


we loved with a love that was more than love

by wincestgoddess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Fluff, Heartbroken Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Prom, Teen Angst, Teen Winchesters (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincestgoddess/pseuds/wincestgoddess
Summary: Sam's first broken heart and the series of events that lead up to prom night.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	we loved with a love that was more than love

**Author's Note:**

> it is heavily (at times, others not so much) implied that there's wincest in this fic. No explicit content or the characters acknowledging it, but it is there. If that's not for you, it's not the fic for you.

Sam would like to say that, overall, making the leap from sophomore to junior wasn’t all that drastic. Nothing magically changed overnight. He didn’t feel any different. He might’ve grown a couple inches the past few months, which Dean kept teasing him about to this day. But that was it. There was no sense of starting to ‘become a man’, whatever John meant by that, no horde of girls crowding his space like it happened to Dean. There might’ve been a brochure of ivy league colleges carefully hidden between his borrowed textbooks. 

Yet, Sam was still Sam. A 16 year old bookworm who liked his space. A slightly taller, shaggy-haired boy that didn’t go out of his way to make friends at school, but he never turned down an offer at friendship either. He’d seen what high school could be like to some kids and he never wanted to reject a possible Barry in his path, not when he’d left behind the real one. In conclusion, junior Sam wasn’t different from sophomore Sam. Junior Sam studied in the library, worked on his assignments during breaks and never again wrote stories on werewolves. Girls most definitely didn’t start pestering him, either.

Then, Alicia happened. 

She didn’t so much start ‘pestering’ him as simply started making conversation one day. Having just moved from Indiana, she’d spotted Sam reading one of her favorite books and proceeded to sit right next to him during class, deciding she’d found a kindred bookworm soul. Sam hadn’t done so much as offer his opinion on his current reading material and mostly listened to her go on about the characterization and analysis of the portrayal of the Victorian era. 

She was smart. She was insightful and her voice pitched higher as she talked about her favorite works of Charles Dickens. She’d get embarrassed then, clear her throat as a faint pink dusted her cheeks. She had freckles on her nose. For some strange reason, that’s what Sam fixated on. Not the pale blonde hair or the honeyed, big eyes. But the freckles. He noticed a tiny scar on the cleft of her chin too, but only when she reached up to absently scratch at it. 

Once she’d seemed to run out of breath, she’d stopped, turned her head and looked at Sam with wide, hopeful eyes and a tentative smile tugging her rosy lips. Waiting for him to respond. And Sam did. Falling into it was easy as that. Well, no, not really. It hadn’t been  _ smooth.  _ On neither part. She’d often backtrack or get lost in her point and Sam would often avoid eye contact or scoot away when she got too close. 

The thing is, he wasn’t Dean, okay? His big brother was all charisma and charm. All cocky smirks and subtle cues; passion red when he flirted. Sam was yellowed pages of latin incantations, knowledge of creatures most people didn’t know of. Sam was a rebellious streak tainting his family’s life. He was crimson when angry. He was a dull grey as they packed to move onto the next town. He was painted to the bone, too many tones, too many bright colors that were too intense for anyone to handle.

Soft meadow green around Dean. 

Too awkward and inexperienced around girls. Especially pretty ones like Alicia. 

Except she didn’t seem to think so because the day after that, she’d joined him during lunch, a new book on her lap and a navy blue cardigan completely wrapped around her upper body, even though it was mid-July. Come to think of it, she’d been sporting a pink sweater the other day, too. Sam made a note to switch seats to the back during homeroom if she was gonna keep insisting on sitting next to him. The AC hit the front row directly. He didn’t want her to be cold, is all. Just an observation he needed to make. Not like she’d keep talking to him.

But she did. Somehow, somewhere along their stay in Idaho, Alicia wormed her way into his heart. She got under his skin in ways no girl had ever done before. In ways no one, except Dean and sometimes John, had ever managed to. The warning signs didn’t matter. The reminder that they would eventually leave town, leave  _ her  _ behind didn’t matter. Sam was helpless. This wasn’t some monster or creature lurking in the shadows. This was new. 

This was more than friendship and it was with a start that on one school night, as Sam was working on his English essay while Dean made a new concoction that involved hot dogs and gravy (and boy was that gonna be hard to stomach), that Sam realized his feelings had shifted. This wasn’t tentative friendship anymore. This was a crush.

Sam Winchester, the freak of the family, the boy who was never enough for his father and too much for his brother had a crush on a perfectly normal girl.

He’d groaned, he’d refused to talk to Dean when the other kept prodding during dinner that night, jokingly asking why Sam’s face resembled the tomato he’d added to the stew. Sam noted the tomato hadn’t been a smart choice in Dean’s part, or any of the ingredients really. Dean had flipped him off and taken Sam’s serving for himself when his bratty little brother pushed it away with a grimace. Didn’t matter. Sam’s stomach had fucking butterflies swimming around and he was sure Dean’s experimental food would only upset him more. 

He’d been tempted to push the feelings away, push Alicia away and lock himself tight in that little box that kept him safe from getting hurt. Kept others safe from him. Because Sam was just passing through. Sam was one gust of wind away from packing up and moving on. Again. And that just spelled heartbreak for anyone involved. Because while Alicia might not share his feelings, she was his friend now. 

She became a constant presence by Sam’s side. Refusing to sit anywhere else that wasn’t next to him at homeroom and joining him at lunch. She’d always make sure they’d be paired up in projects and didn’t even comment on the fact that Sam was living in a motel when he brought her over. She did offer to keep working at her house when she noticed how uncomfortable Sam seemed. He’d grown used to life in shitty motels; didn’t mean it was less embarrassing to bring someone over and see the realization hit them in the face. 

The Winchesters living in that shady motel, no parental supervision. Not normal. They could never be normal. Normal meant family breakfasts. Normal didn’t mean cleaning guns and patching up wounds. Normal meant pets. Not Sam attempting to help stray dogs no matter how mad John got. Normal was contentment and happiness, even through the occasional ansty itch all teenagers had. Normal wasn’t the overwhelming, almost suffocating urge to run away. 

Sam Winchester wasn’t normal. So why would his crush be any different? 

Not Alicia, she was perfectly average. In a fantastic sort of way. Really, she was everything Sam wished he could be. Had a normal family; father an accountant and her mother a nurse. She had a cat she absolutely doted on. And a little sister she pretended to be annoyed by but clearly cared more than she let on. All those qualities that made Sam fall even more. 

Always ignoring that petty sliver of envy that pooled low in his gut. Because Sam’s feelings could never be 100% pure. No, there was always anger there. There was always  _ something  _ tainting them, always something tarnishing his relationships. He knew deep down, that something, was him. He was the black spot. 

Dean made it bearable. Made Sam feel worth it, even. Alicia did too, for a while.

Until she left, anyway. 

Whoever was up there (because Sam had to believe there was something greater than himself. Otherwise the darkness inside and around him wouldn’t let go) must’ve been having a good laugh over that. Sam was the one left behind, for once. He briefly wondered if Barry had felt the same tightness around his chest and the sharp stab of betrayal that Sam had felt. The sense of being abandoned. Which quite simply, sucked. 

She’d been all smiles as she broke the news too. Her dad’s old office was economically stable again so they could move back to Indiana. Back to their old house. Back to Alicia’s first and true friends, the ones she’d known from childhood. Unlike Sam. He’d been a mere blot on the road, just passing by. Always passing by. Still, he couldn’t completely begrudge her happiness, so he’d put on a dimpled smile, had hugged her accordingly and said he’d miss her. She promised to keep in touch. Sam never mentioned his current number was a burner phone and he’d soon get rid of it. Save her the trouble.

He didn’t mention prom, either. All throughout that day, Sam never mentioned the corsage he’d gotten her. Pink, to match her dress. He didn’t say how he’d been saving up so he could treat her to dinner before. He never got around to ask her, after all. Had  _ just  _ been gathering up the courage when suddenly it wasn’t an option anymore. 

Sam kept quiet. Bit back the scathing remarks. And he could feel them, oh he could feel them like acid burning on the tip of his tongue, threatening to break loose and show her who Sam Winchester was truly inside. He was more than a bookworm, more than an opinionated teen with a dry sense of humor and sassy attitude only the closest to his heart got to see. Sam was fire and ugly words. Sam could lash out and strike right where it hurt the most. 

But he didn’t. Dean already knew and had to live with that side of him. Had to endure one too many insults being hurled at him about their lives, about the unfairness of it all. Never fought back. He always let Sam just let it all out, just work it out until he was tired and almost crumbling from the weight of his feelings. He already put his brother through that. Sam wouldn’t put Alicia through it. Not on her last day. 

He promised they’d hang out after school instead and sent a quick text to let Dean know he wouldn’t be coming back until later. Sam dismissed the would-be-casual-if-he-didn’t-know-Dean ‘everything okay?’ he got in return with a simple ‘yeah’ and turned off his phone for the rest of the day. He had a friend to spend time with after all, and a secret crush to say goodbye to. 

They laughed. They exchanged favorite reads and Sam promised he’d give Jane Austen a try if she gave Horacio Quiroga one. They shook on it and because they weren’t complete nerds, not really, they spent the rest of the day watching classic movies and throwing popcorn at the TV every time a character did something stupid. All while Alicia’s dad popped in and out of the room collecting boxes. Each box he took was a stomp to Sam’s heart and for a split second he regretted ever laying eyes on the over-excited girl trying to make small talk all those months ago. But then, her hair was tickling his nose and Sam turned his head to realize she’d fallen asleep, head resting on his shoulder and a casual arm thrown over his stomach. 

And it was just---it was too much. It would be different if Sam was the one leaving. It would be expected. This? This was a sick joke dripping with irony and Sam didn’t  _ like  _ being abandoned, okay? So he ran. He gently pushed her away and left her home without so much as a whispered goodbye. Her dad would find her and he would ask where her friend went. And Alicia would realize what had happened, would realize what Sam really is and they’d never keep in touch. It was fine. 

Sam was fine. 

He told Dean he was fine when his brother asked, sounding more worried than Sam thought necessary because c’mon, Sam could be a drama queen about it but in reality it was just a stupid high school crush. Just the first of many heartbreaks he would endure. Except he hadn’t noticed tears had been silently making their way down his cheeks, flushed from running all the way back to the motel, he hadn’t noticed until Dean was right there cupping his face and checking for possible injuries. Who did this, Sammy? Who hurt you,  _ what  _ hurt you? 

Snapping out of his trance, Sam had roughly pushed Dean away, angrily wiping his face with his sleeve. 

“Not a fucking monster, Dean. Alicia’s moving. She’s leaving,” he hated the way his voice cracked at the end and to make up for it, he headed to his room. No, never his room, their shared room. And he slammed the door shut. Dean didn’t bother him the rest of the night. 

Message received. 

Dean was stubborn though and as Sam’s mood shifted from anger to gloomy, to just plain sad the next couple of days, his big brother tried his damndest to make Sam smile again, to  break him out of his funk. 

* * *

Dean Winchester wasn’t stupid. He might’ve been a high school dropout but he knew better than most than some fancy diploma doesn’t mean shit in this world. Hey, you finished your education? Good for you. Maybe even went to college, got a degree, the whole nine yards. Bet you don’t know how to fucking fix a car or survive an entire week on half a box of noodles and burger buns. Bet you need to call an expert to fix your leaky faucet instead of doing it yourself, or you can afford the luxury of calling a doctor to take care of your dad’s stitches when he’s passed out on the sofa, bleeding all over the stained cushions, all while shielding your little brother from seeing the gory scene. 

Big fucking deal. Dean learned all that shit by himself. At nine years old he was more independent than most 20 year olds. So at nineteen he was practically an old adult. A very good-looking, full of stamina old adult but still. Point is, he knew his shit. He looked out for his family and took care of them. Didn’t just mean physically. 

He’ll admit he’d been relieved when Sam’s tears that fateful night turned out to be from a girl rather than the scarier alternative. But then Sam had started sulking. Stopped eating, stopped working in school, stopped  _ talking  _ to Dean and that just wouldn’t do. 

First thing Dean had done? He made sure they still had mac’n’cheese. Being a Winchester didn’t require a refined palate so both boys would eat just about anything with no complaints. No time to be a picky eater in this life. Dean’s mac’n’cheese though? Sam loved it. He grew up on it and it was the closest to comfort food he’d ever get. It was ridiculous, the damn thing came from a box but still, the way Dean made it? Sam was willing to bet his brother had a secret ingredient stashed somewhere.

Thus, Dean cooked mac’n’cheese à la Sammy. Sam, of course, was none the wiser to his brother’s true intentions seeing as the cheesy dish was nothing out of the ordinary. He ate it though. Finished the whole damn thing and even asked for seconds. Dean took that as a victory. 

Of course food didn’t magically solve the problem. But that was okay, Dean was no quitter. 

Next step in his plan was easy enough, too. Even if he had to break one of his own rules for it. Nevertheless, Dean was determined and it was with such determination that he casually said Sam could pick the music as he drove his brother to school. That sole sentence had been enough to have Sam’s head snapping up. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he reached out with long, nimble fingers and switched the station. Dean didn’t move a muscle. After what felt like a long one-sided staring contest, Sam relaxed and accepted the strange gesture before leaning back in his seat. His shoulders relaxed a fraction and Dean’s lips twitched upwards.

Dean took to playing soft rock at night, too. And if Sam bitched about it, well, they both knew it was just for show because the melody actually helped him get more hours of sleep. Definitely worked for those purple bags under his eyes and Dean had to stop himself from doing something completely uncool like fist pump the air or something equally as embarrassing. He settled for making a remark about ‘sleeping beauty’. The ‘jerk’ he got in response made him feel so much lighter. 

Third step in his plan would look suspicious and could possibly alert Sam of Dean’s true intentions, which would result in an epic tantrum only his brother could pull of. Dean could already hear Sam insisting he was fine and he didn’t need his big brother to cheer him up because that was undoubtedly what Sam thought Dean was doing. Which...okay, wasn’t a complete lie. But c’mon, turn Sam’s puppy dog eyes on anyone else and they’d be trying the same thing. 

So, bookstore it was. 

Sam’s bibliophilia was a well known fact in the Winchester nonexistent household. It’s why research always went to Sam. It’s why the younger brother gravitated towards the local library in every town they marked off the map. And it’s why Sam treasured every book he actually got to keep. Not just check out with a fake library card or borrow from Bobby’s trusty pile. Sadly, as with many things in their life, Sammy was lacking in his book collection. 

Dean buying Sam a brand new copy of Jules Verne’s ‘From the Earth to the Moon’ when it wasn’t even close to his birthday or any sort of holiday would definitely be classified as suspicious behaviour and he was sure Sam would see right through it. Which would undoubtedly be all sorts of awkward and bring up a talk Dean didn’t want to have. But he was the older brother here, damn it! He owed no explanations to no one, especially not his snot-nosed little brother. Sam should just take the damn gift and be fucking grateful.

Sam didn’t just take the gift, he couldn’t just be grateful. No, he had to pester Dean with his raised eyebrow and his narrowed eyes and his pursed lips, questioning why. Couldn’t he just be nice for no reason? Apparently not, especially not after he’d been nice to Sam all week, cooking for him (which he  _ always  _ did, so he didn’t see the point of Sam mentioning that but whatever), letting him pick the music and what they watched on TV, and now this? A book. 

So fucking what? Jesus, the kid was so on edge all the time. It fit perfectly with his angsty teenage bullshit. Why couldn’t his brother just go through a phase of banging every girl he came in contact with like Dean had? 

He pointedly ignored the ants of burning jealousy that wormed under his skin whenever he thought of Sam banging some chick. 

Of course, that was the core of the issue here, wasn’t it? Alaina, Alice or whatever the fuck her name was. Sure, Dean would bet she was a pretty regular, sweet, smart girl. Had to be for Sammy to fall for her. Still, that same sweet girl took Sammy’s precious heart, the one his brother guarded so well and took it for a test drive, only to leave it behind months later. Guess who had to pick up the pieces? Not her, that was for damn sure. Not John either. It wasn’t their heart breaking along with Sam’s. Those sad, crestfallen expressions would be the death of Dean Winchester and he was too awesome to go like that. 

“What can I say, Sammy? The library was closed and I knew how much you wanted that stupid book. You’ve got what, 7 books of your own? Gotta be sick of reading that shit all over again.”

And that had been that. That had been Dean’s final say on the matter. Looking back on his words, he probably could’ve played it a lot cooler. But then again, even though buying Sam a book right after his first heartbreak was obviously Dean’s way of trying to lift his spirits, Dean going out of his way to get what Sam wanted wasn’t uncommon. 

Did Sam forget the brand new sneakers Dean got him for soccer? Or the cheap yet functional coloring pencils when he was a kid? All the birthday cakes, all the presents Dean would steal for him during Christmas? Or the way Dean would leave him the last chicken piece of their KFC bucket during Thanksgiving? 

It wasn’t that unusual and it was not worth getting questioned over. Really, Sammy, take the present and shut the fuck up. Jesus. 

Thankfully, he did. Partly because aside from the nagging feeling Dean had ulterior motives, Sam truly didn’t mind that much, but also because Dean was an expert in the art of avoiding questions he didn’t want to answer. And after dealing with Sam’s curious nature for over 16 years, he had it down to a T. 

Dean’s smirk and the consequent warmth that spread from his chest all the way down to his toes when the next day he came back to the motel to find Sam completely engrossed in his new book made it all worth it. He’d put up with unnecessary questions anytime if it meant Sam smiling like that. Ease him from the pain of what his brother saw as abandonment for a while. That’s all Dean wanted. 

Now the last step in Dean’s plan was something he hadn’t truly planned. Hadn’t even known about it, really. Not until he caught sight of Sam staring forlornly at a pink corsage tucked away safely in a clear plastic box. 

“What’s that?” Dean had asked, leather jacket thrown carefully over his own bed as he took a seat at the edge of it, trying to peer at the item in Sam’s hands. 

“Oh. Uh, it’s a corsage. For, uh...prom.” 

Dean didn’t miss the way Sam’s voice faded at the end of his sentence, how his tone went faint and weak, almost as if saying the word out loud was a struggle. 

“You gonna wear that to prom?” Dean snickered.

“No, asshole. I was gonna ask…” Sam trailed off then, his gaze going scarily blank for a second. Once he seemed to regain control of his expression, he cleared his throat and tossed the box aside carelessly with an air of finality and a hint of bitterness in his next words. 

“Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Little did Sam know the damage had been done. Because Sam might’ve been the most self-aware 16 year old kid Dean had known. In touch with his feelings and all that bullshit. But if there was someone that knew him even better than himself, that was his big brother. 

Dean was a certified Sam Winchester connoisseur. The complex book that was his brother wasn’t that hard to read when you knew what to look for. Not when you knew his tics, knew how to make him laugh and smile, when you knew what words would cut deeper than the others. Not when you grew up being a light to balance the ever threatening darkness that your brother saw in himself. Of course, Sam didn’t know of his own light. How it was so intricately connected with Dean’s. 

That bond couldn’t be tarnished by outside forces or even their own internal struggle. Their demons could try and weave black, poisonous ink between the words that made up their entrails but it was all in vain. In their heart, it was already written. It was set out. It was something deeper and greater than them, something more carnal and raw that they could even begin to suspect at the tender age of 16 and 19. 

It was formed enough to let Dean know he’d do anything for Sam,  _ be  _ anything for him. He’d rearrange himself from the inside out if that’s what his brother asked. Whatever he needed. Whenever. Devotion. That’s what Dean knew. 

And so he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t feel his cheeks flame with embarrassment as he rented a brand new tux. None of those hand-me-downs suits he’d just started wearing.

Sam deserved the best and Dean was gonna make damn sure he got it, okay? 

He’d even wear the damn corsage if Sam wanted him to.

He did, however, feel his stomach churn with nerves when the fateful night arrived. Which was stupid. If Sam said yes, then great, Dean had accomplished his mission. They’d go to some stupid high school prom, probably held in a gym that smelled like sweat and socks, have some (hopefully) spiked punch, maybe dance a little and overall, just have fun. 

If Sam said no...well, Dean couldn’t quite figure out why that rejection would sting. Wouldn’t be the first time Sam’s told him no. The staccato of his heart whispered the outcome of this question meant more. 

* * *

Sam knew what Dean was doing.

Maybe the mac’n’cheese hadn’t been enough for him to figure it out at first, after all, it was a pretty common dish throughout his life. But the music had been a flashing neon sign that exposed Dean’s intentions for what they really were. 

Sam wanted to be pissed. He wanted to snap at him that he didn’t need this, he didn’t need to be fucking coddled and treated with kid gloves. He’d suffer through the knife twisting his spine and the iron fist squeezing his heart in a relentless grip and the hot, burning,  _ red  _ misplaced anger that in the end only ever blamed himself. He’d suffer all of that and bear it with a scowl because he was a Winchester and they don’t have time for petty stuff like broken hearts. 

Except, part of Sam, the same part that was dimpled smiles and light-hearted banter and offers of the toy at the bottom of his Lucky Charms, that part didn’t mind. Welcomed it. That part was delighted to be showered with this kind of attention and warmed that his brother would go against his own rule of ‘driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole’. Dean didn’t have many rules but he was a stickler for that one. God forbid someone ejected his Black Sabbath cassette. 

He’d still had to put up some kind of fight. Which resulted in the bookstore debacle. It was painfully obvious this was Dean’s tactic to cheer him up. Sam wondered why his brother hadn’t gone to such great lengths to cover that up somehow. Maybe deep down, he’d wanted to truly show Sam he cared, not disguise it behind any pretense. And yet, he was still the little brother. So he’d bombarded Dean with questions, questions that predictably went unanswered. 

Sam let it go. That gained him a surprised gaze from his brother but they were both so stubborn and stuck in their ways, that they wouldn’t complain. Sam successfully hid his fond smile that night, taking the book to their room and starting a brand new literary journey. 

* * *

It all came to a head tonight. Tonight was the night everyone in his class had either looked forward to or had been dreading. Tonight was prom night. Sam’s first prom. It was to expect, really. Only someone with a Winchester’s luck would end up missing it. True, he could show up alone, go ‘stag’ like Dean had done his first and only prom. Didn’t want to chain himself down to just one chick, was what his brother had said. But what was the point? He didn’t talk to anyone at school except Alicia. And she was long gone by now. Probably having the time of her life at a welcoming party or out with the friends she’d missed so much, the ones she’d told Sam about.

He didn’t know what infuriated him more. Thinking of Liddy’s homemade peach pie outshining the vending machine snacks the two laughing teens had snuck from the motel Sam called ‘home’, or the latest book review Esteban would use to stomp on Sam’s measly little opinions on gothic writers. Maybe neither of those mattered as much as Paul. Paul and the mole on his nose to rival Sam’s dimples. His trendy buzz haircut that would put Sam’s long, tangled hair to shame. Maybe it had been the way Alicia’s cheeks went pink, the way her sigh went dreamy when she mentioned him. Maybe that was the cause for the ice cracking around his heart, fighting the fire that had started there. The fight slowly draining from his body in a black, oozy puddle, leaving behind a numb Sam. 

They were all better than his miserable corsage. 

That’s how Dean found him 20 minutes later. In bed, still staring at that damn thing like it had ripped his heart out itself with its vines. 

Dean had changed into his tux in the Impala. Which had been cramped as hell but wouldn’t give away the surprise. He’d made sure to comb his hair neatly, just a little. He wasn’t a fucking asshole, John Travolta wannabe that carried around a comb and slicked his hair back. Just enough to make him look put together, but still look hot. 

And that, is how Sam found  _ him.  _ His gaze traveled from tapered, polished black shoes, up to pants that were hugging Dean’s thighs and looked tailored to his waist, up to a buttoned jacket that seemed to cling to Dean’s arms and chest, and yet appeared to look no constricting at all. All finished up with a nicely placed bowtie, which moved when Dean swallowed thickly as Sam’s eyes lingered on his brother’s throat. 

Hazel eyes met nervous green.

“Sammy,” It was no more than a hushed breath, prompting Dean to clear his throat and repeat the name, injecting confidence in his tone. 

“Be my date?” 

A hand was held out.

You had to be damn perceptive to be able to notice the fine tremor making Dean’s hand shake slightly, make his knuckles flex. Either that or you had to be Sam Winchester. 

This was important. Even at 16 years old, Sam could feel that. This was not only Dean offering to give what Sam thought he couldn’t have. And wasn’t that what he always did? Give, give and give until he was bled dry, until John’s voice was hoarse from saying no, until Bobby was sighing in exasperation, until Sam was satisfied and happy, all Dean would ever do is give. But this? This was a start, too. Deep in his hollow, cold ice heart, Sam knew it. Sam felt those words lighting up and seeking for someone else’s. His other half. Right here, in front of him. 

This was a different kind of fire. One that didn’t burn but set him alive, set every nerve alight. This was a different kind of ice. Not a numbing one but a breeze of icicles forming a home right where they belonged, protecting not one, but two souls. This was no Alicia. This was Dean. And Dean was a different kind of yearning. 

This was love. 

A smaller hand slid into Dean’s, slender fingers lacing with his own and they fit. Like they’d done from the very beginning when Sam’s fingers were tiny and Dean’s fist was chubby. Still fit. Still made sense. Still worked

“I’ll be your date, Dean.”

This was love.

And Sam and Dean had found it. 


End file.
